Agent Duran’s eyes twinkled as he tipped an imaginary hat. Something zinged through me. Was it from a tiny bit of attention from Hot Absentee Dad? Or was it the feeling I got right before I really lit up a crowd?
“But other grown-ups, people like me, we don’t have jobs. We have day jobs.” I wroteDAYon the board in front ofJOB. “The day job pays the bills. But it’s not what day-job people really want to do. It’s not what they’re passionate about. They actually really want to do something else for a living. Ironically, a lot of day jobs—waiter, bartender, valet, escort—are mostly at night.”
The kid I’d pegged as Agent Duran Junior raised his hand. “What’s an escort?”
“Perhaps Mrs.Turner could stick to the subject ofher ownjob?” Mrs.Glidewell said.
“You’re gonna have to ask your dad,” I told Agent Duran Junior. “So yeah, my day job is at the capitol. But my real job, my passion job, my job that doesn’t pay the bills, is comedian. I mean, it was.”
I paused. Should I go for it?
It had been so long.
I glanced toward the Heroes of the United States of America bulletin board where my kids had hung their drawings of Moms Mabley and Joan Rivers. Two women who knew the truth: We need comedy exactly because life is hard, often tragic, sometimes impossible. Laughter is a balm for the soul, sometimes the only thing that allows us to put one foot in front of the other during epically terrible, terrifying times. I hoped that was something Phoebe and Alice would be able to hold on to, no matter what happened to me, to us, in the days to come. It suddenly seemed urgent to remind them of that while I still had the chance.
“So I’m gonna tell y’all some jokes,” I said.
Phoebe’s head snapped up. Alice’s smile transformed from the kind you give someone who just came back from the salon with a haircut so bad it makes your eyes water to an actual happy smile. “I don’t have anything prepared for the under-third-grade set, so you might have heard some of these before. But go easy on me, okay? I’m rusty. All right. So two cookies are baking in an oven.”
Hubert’s hand shot into the air. How did Mrs.Glidewell deal with this kid all day?
“What kind of cookies?” he asked.
“White-chocolate macadamia nut. Obviously,” I said. “So one of the cookies looks at the other one and says, ‘Holy cow, it’s getting hot in here!’ The other looks back and says, ‘Eeeek! It’s a talking white-chocolate macadamia nut cookie!’”
Several kids laughed, which gave me the confidence to ad-lib. “Raise your hand if you’ve ever gone to the nurse’s office for a lice check.”
Every hand shot in the air.
“When I was your age, Bonnie Perrimeyer was the school nurse. She wore these purple gloves. I had to bend my head over and she’d part my hair with those long lice-check sticks.” The kids nodded in recognition.“Not to sound too strange, but I loved it. But you know what cured me of liking lice check?”
“What?” Johnica called out.
“Getting lice!” I said.
Most of the kids looked puzzled. But for some reason the “getting lice” joke really whacked Agent Duran’s funny bone. He started giggling like a schoolboy. Which was gratifying, I have to say. Mrs.Glidewell, on the other hand, had a face of stone.
“See, my mom didn’t believe in wasting money on lice shampoo,” I continued. “So she covered all of my hair in—wait for it—Miracle Whip!” Agent Duran was literally doubled over, that’s how hard he was laughing. “Next she wrapped my Miracle Whip–covered hair in Saran Wrap. She swore the lice and their eggs drowned in the Miracle Whip. I think it’s more likely they were like, ‘Can I get some chicken salad to go with this mayonnaise?’ If I even see a jar of Miracle Whip in the store to this day, I’m all—” I grimaced and pretended to wipe dripping Miracle Whip off of my neck.
Some of the kids were giggling now, but more because Agent Duran’s helpless chortles were contagious than because they liked my jokes. Still, it felt good to see Phoebe and Alice smiling at me. It felt good to be up there, giving it a go. I’d sound crazy if I tried to explain it to anyone, but when I was riffing in a way that made even one person really bust up, I felt like I was channeling something sacred. I was a hollow bone and the light of the divine dropped straight through me. It was the closest I ever came to feeling a part of the sacred energy of the world.
It was time to bring in the old guard of kid humor. “Knock, knock,” I said.
“Who’s there?” Phoebe and Alice called. They at least knew the drill.
“Ice cream.”
“Ice cream who?” at least half the class said. The power of call-and-response lit up their brains like so many Christmas trees.
“ICE CREAM SO YOU CAN HEAR ME!” I yelled.
Agent Duran laughed so hard he was crying. Mrs.Glidewell gave me a dirty look. Phoebe and Alice beamed. No matter what happened in the coming days, they would remember this. Me up here, giving it my all, trying to help other people lose themselves for a moment in something akin to joy.
“Knock, knock,” I said.
This time even more kids responded: “Who’s there?”
“An interrupting cow.” I was counting on the fact that most of them would know this one.
